


Trwały Wąż, Wiedźmin

by yamisionnach



Category: Metal Gear, The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Adopted Children, Crossover, Established Relationship, Give me a half minute to get to Geraskier, M/M, Mage! Hal, Pining, Source! Sunny, Spoilers, Wicher! Snake, Witcher AU, Witcher! Raiden, it'll be there
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:33:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22978447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yamisionnach/pseuds/yamisionnach
Summary: For fun, a Witcher AU for the Metal Gear Solid family. The continuing adventures of Dawid(David) the Witcher, Hal the Mage, and Słońce (Sunny) their adopted daughter.Please poke me in the comments if you have questions about the little changes I've made or just to scream Witcher lore at me. I'm learning still. Un-beta'd, we walk The Path alone.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Otacon/Solid Snake, Sunny Emmerich & Solid Snake
Comments: 16
Kudos: 37





	1. Heading Home

Despite the work the young bard had done to repaint the image that cursed all Witchers, there was always a town that had not heard the songs. They spat and glared as he rode through the village on his black gelding. They did not trust his dark clothes and sharp eyes, children running to hide at their mother’s side when he turned towards them. He would stay but a night, leaving before day break. The innkeeper was hesitant but his coin was bright with pure gold, the woman, no matter how uneasy, accepted when he paid twice the going rate. Simple enough. Humans were greedy.

Had the young girl sitting astride his horse not been dozing he would have argued. Outside in the stable he tied the reins to the post, digging a pouch of raisins and oats from the saddle bag. Just a handful. The gelding was pleased, pressing into him with affection. A little voice hummed from above, his little ward blinked back sleepy tears. Eyes a warm honey brown when she looked down.

“Dawid? Are we-?” Her little hands held tightly to the mane, all at once too nervous. Lips turned down in a frown.

“No. Back to sleep, Słońce.” Not that she would fall asleep so easily, but bringing her down into his arm, face tucked into his neck it was like a spell. With but a breath she was sleeping again. The first time he had to compel her, not that she was easily swayed by his tricks. Strong with magic in the same manner that his Mage was, of mind. She would thrive under his tutelage. Better than leaving her under Janusz’s care, a child in Dawid’s eyes despite being a few decades old. Still many decades young among Witchers. One of the last mutated as far as he knew, the very last of the Viper School. Nothing remained after…

The loss was the knowledge, the scholars, books, and scrolls burned to ash. So many decades, centuries, millennia of… It mattered naught. It was gone and so they moved on. Spreading to the wind to live out their days fighting back monsters and collecting coin. The inn had gone quiet as he walked through, feet light against packed dirt and gravel that made up the floor. Narrowed eyes, the smell of anger and ale coming off them in waves. Even with a full arm Dawid could take them on easily. Skilled more than most in handling human matters with his bare hands; dagger at his hip, dominant hand ready to unsheathe it in a flash. Tension hangs heavy, never fading but he is allowed to walk to his room. No dirty boots following as he stepped through the threshold.

Barred the door all the same, it would slow them should they attempt to attack him. A mob would take the door off its hinges with a few charges. After a few hours sleep it won’t matter, he will then meditate at the door. Waiting. Protecting Słońce while she slept.

There was no trouble, not a peep in the late hour when Dawid woke. Słońce still curled against his side, hair like threads of silver in the moonlight. Until the day he rode up and she ran to him, Dawid never had the desire to care for children. Couldn’t sire one after all, would live two lifetimes more than any child that would find their way into his care. But little Słońce, bound to another Witcher, would live many years to come. Could outlive him even. Anyone that smelled so strongly of old and powerful magic would. Careful not to disturb, he stepped down, climbing out of the straw bed. Kneeling quietly before the door and closing his eyes, listening. Isolating sounds. A rat in the kitchen, ale barrel rolling and sloshing outside. A rough voice tunelessly humming. Hearts beating, one just beyond the door.

Elevated but breathing smooth. Clean smelling, no ale on their breath. A jiggle of gold as they move. Hand posed for Axii, he needed only a split second.

“Witcher, are you awake?”

“Speak, soft and swift.” His voice a rumble but not low, not like the earth moving. It would not wake Słońce to have this conversation through the door, should he need to raise his voice however…

“Coin for work, should you want it.”

“What work?”

“Somethin’s killin’ trade caravans. Supplies left alone but the guards, merchants, all gone. Horses too.” A necrophage of some variety, likely, hopefully. Easily handled in an hour or so, unless there was a nest. Eyes closed again and he thought, without Słońce there would be no thought given, he would already have his sword coated and his horse mounted. He had turned down a contract not a day’s ride away, taking a harpies’ nest alone would have meant his death. With Hal at his side it would have been easy. Magic to make him invisible to their eyes and noses. Clever was his mage, dedicating himself to his little trinkets that were more useful than troublesome. To his spells that more than once charmed their way into more money and out of trouble.

A quick pat to his coin purse, some copper, some silver, two gold. Not enough. He needed the coin.

“100 ducat, plus 10 for each slayed.”

“50 ducat, plus 10 for each.”

“Fine.” After moving the stop, his gloved hand reached out of the room for the bag. It felt right, he checked it anyway. 50 ducat, dented but pure, confirmed with a little shake of the bag. It would easily get him to the next town and farther south, back home. “I’ll need a wagon and another horse, something to draw them out.”

“Will the little Witcher be going with you?”

“She’s not a mutant.”

“Looks like one from here.” Dawid turned to the bed, Słońce was awake and looking at him with a deep frown. Silent, impossibly so. Smart girl. Already using her power to protect herself. She had already told him that she doesn’t like when he has to fight, didn’t like the smell of blood when it clung to his armor. Said he looked wrong. Scary. In this light she did look the part of a witcher. If not for her round pupils she would be a splitting image of the young trainees that survived the trial. Unnatural, emotionally shaken. Fear would follow her, hate would curse her.

They say Witchers cannot feel; how wrong they were for he felt anger, and pity on behalf of his little Słońce.

“She isn’t. Just a girl.” Barely contained, will alone keeping his tone even, voice quiet. Enough. No more need for words. He closes the door gently, even though Słońce is looking at him with worry in her eyes. He leans in, pressing their foreheads together and encouraging her back to bed, she resists his words. Resists his sign.

“Wha- What- Where are you going?” Little stutter not becoming of a girl her age but she had been kept as a tool, honed for magic. No social interaction, good or bad. Her voice was weak unless it was calling out spells, her telekinesis more than on par to his sign. In her lies a strength but she is still so young, so exposed, like a raw nerve. Hal would know better how to care for her, always the sensitive one between them. Feelings long misunderstood unless it was anger. Or true love. Maybe one day he will learn to love Słońce. He certainly had to learn to love Hal.

“Contract, scary things. Easy enough.” Distrust rolled off her, burying her sweet milk and flower scent.

“I- I don’t- You- You’re lying.”

“I’m not.” He wasn’t. They were just devourers, maybe a small nest. They didn’t have much to hunt out here, if they hadn’t attacked the village yet that was a good sign there were only two or three. Child’s play, he had killed harder prey before entering his second decade. Having fared better than most because of his studious nature. Always reading, learning about the creatures he was to fight. He was thinking about the past again. Needed to think of the here and now. Of Słońce and getting her back to sleep.

“Sleep Słońce. You can divine my fate in the morning. I will buy you a fresh egg.” With the promise she returned to lying down, curling in on herself against the cold that crept in through the open window. Knowing that he would not be returning to the bed, Dawid pulled the panes shut. Signing to light the dried wood in the hearth. It would become stuffy if left alone but he was there to tend to it. Easily opening the window to force smoke out, fresh night air rushing in to replace it.

With the rising sun he located the man who had hired him, following the smell of soap, clean clothes. Far more challenging than his hunt will be. The man eyed them both, watching as Słońce tucked herself close to his leg, he moved his arm to hide her.

“Still looks like a mutant to me.”

“2 hours, proof will be teeth or livers. 1 liver or 10 teeth is one kill.”

“Taking the little one with you?”

“She does not leave my side.” With that they made for his mount, giving the gelding a good pat on the shoulder. Scratching along its velvety nose, it nickered with irritation as if knowing it is going to be taken along for something reckless. Smart horse. Really should give him a name. Tucked carefully into his armor is a small metal box, a xenovox that was no bigger than his medallion round his neck. Best left for emergencies but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be frivolous once in a while.

“Słońce, come close.” She does and he lifts her up onto the gelding’s back, having her lean forward so their ears are close together. He wills his words to carry, knowing that Hal will be listening. After all, the alert affects only one of the pair, his. “Hal.” Voice quiet, smoother and warmer than he used with Słońce. Hopefully that would change with time, it had taken time before.

“Dawid. Are you nearing home? You sound so distant.” Familiar voice echoing through the little box, too distant. So far away but hearing it at all was a comfort, they had been separated for too long. Weeks at this point.

“Only two days’ ride closer.”

“Is something the matter then? Do you need a portal? I could-”

“No, no need. Wished only to hear your voice, to let Słońce hear you. Ask for a name for my new horse.” Light laughter came from the xenovox and he felt a ghost of a smile on his lips. If only Hal could see him now, he would light up so bright he could rival the sun. Maybe he already was.

“How unlike you. Hello Słońce, I’m Halloran or Hal for short.”

“He- Hello.”

“Could you do something for me Słońce? Can you share with me something you like? Think hard and close your eyes." He knew this. Telempathy. Something he only had experienced once in his life, with Hal bleeding from his eyes and nose. Rejection, he said, a side effect of trying to push into someone's mind when they won't let you in. Like running face first into a door. Across a great distance, through this little trinket he could see it happening between them. So talented in mind magic that they shared happiness and beauty, Słońce’s face brightening with warm cheeks, a smile. Pale fingers reached out to him, holding to his hand like the babe she was.

“Dawid, open your mind to me please? I want to see Słońce.” A grunt in displeasure escaped him. Never liked this, the idea of sharing his mind with someone else. It was Hal though, his mage, his best friend. His lover. So he closed his eyes, picturing the little silver haired child with her patched dress and over-sized boots. Dried flower crown on her head, purple and white flowers bound with matching ribbons. Smelling of lavender and roses, of milk and sugar. Of elder blood and silver. The faint smell of cooked egg for this morning while she used oomancy. A slight smile as he remembered her relief and declaration that he was safe to hunt today.

“I love her Dawid. I would move mountains to protect her.”

“You said the same thing when you confessed to me.” Standing on a cliff’s edge, sun rising, blinding. Hal holding desperately to his arm as he dangled over the edge, they had barely survived the panicked teleportation. Somewhere there was a bruxae who was screeching as her meal was stolen from her. Had Hal been a second too slow, he would have been killed. Ripped to shreds. So he stood, frozen with an arm still outstretched where it caught Hal before he fell to his death. Eyes meeting, Hal’s voice breathless. _ I would move mountains to protect you Dawid.  _

“Dawid! You’re embarrassing me.” They had been travelling together for half a century, half of that as lovers. What embarrassment could he still be feeling?

“What did you show Słońce?”

“You, and all the gentle moments we have shared since we started travelling together. When you were picking flowers for your potions, staring out at the sunset. I wanted to show her what made me happy and all I could think about was you. She likes flowers and the shimmer of the air when she uses her magic. She is smitten with that young Witcher who rescued her, Janusz? Biały? Piorun? What does he call himself these days?”

“Piorun.”

“Well she likes Witchers, you most of all. Your eyes, she likes looking at your eyes, even when you are glaring.”

“Must be the color.”

“They’re pretty, like the sky.” Słońce spoke, eyes sparkling in delight. Grip tightening around his finger, baby soft against his glove. Would she fear his hand when she saw the thick calluses and dagger scars.

“They are.” Voice light, echoing like in a dream.

“Peas in a pod, now, name the gelding. Have a contract.” Had to get back on track. If he didn’t then there was no finishing the contract before midday. He missed Hal, so much. Would rather portal home this moment then take the next five days travelling. Better this way. Portals were dangerous. Hal could never picture the place in his mind. The incident on the cliff was far too common.

“Are you taking Słońce with you? Is it safe? Can she defend herself?”

“Hal, she is more than capable. Just necrophage. The horse?” Change the subject, keep his mind off his recklessness. Too eager to help, too sheltered to know the far North well enough to find his way safely to Dawid. More likely to end up in an arachas’ nest. Again.

“Król, call him Król. Before I left the academy I was working on a golem that I called ‘Rex’, an ancient world of a kingdom long fallen. It means ‘król’.”

“A fine name. He will serve me well.”

“Be safe Dawid, please come home without more scars.”

“Can’t make promises.”

“I c- can- can heal him, if I ha- have to, but the eg -the eg- the egg said he’d be safe.”

“Oomancy?”

“Oo- oo- oo- oomancy.”

“Aren’t you clever? Then I will trust in you and the egg.” Light, gentle. Every bit the gentle soul he had pulled out of the frozen hell all those years ago.

“We’ll be there in three days.”

“I love you Dawid.”

“Yes.”  _ Me too. _ Not that he could speak it like Hal could. Open and often, every feeling passionate and casual. Never like that. He could only whisper it into Hal’s neck at the crack of dawn, or as they spent the evening tangled, sweating. Breathlessly confessing again and again his love. Carefully Dawid tucked the xenovox box back into his armor, close to his heart. Should Hal need him it would tinkle, sharp to his ears.


	2. The Bard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Turns out that Elder is mostly Irish and Gaelic with sprinkles of other languages. I was pleased~)

“Cuimhne leat an t-am

Nuair a bhí tú sásta

An cuimhne leat an t-am

Nuair a bhí tú ag gáire” Dawid hunched more over his little ray of sunshine, listening to her sing in elder speech. Though the lyrics were heart wrenching, reminding him that everyone was at a time or another innocent, even witchers. Most witchers anyway. Innocence was never in the cards for him. Given up with his twin brother more than a century ago as payment for services rendered. No law of surprise evoked, just a harsh man demanding that his wife give up the children that had been born during the battle. They told him, and his twin, that it was botchlings, his unborn brothers.

Nothing to be done with it, nothing to feel about it. Not like this rain. He hated the rain.

Hardly a drizzle but it had been lingering, wetting the valley for days. Just to avoid making Słońce sleep on a wet bedroll they hadn’t stopped since passing into Kaedwen. Coin was light anyway. Their pace was steady but slow, no need to rest Król more than an hour when they stopped to eat around a fire. It was taking its toll on Dawid, always awake and alert to keep them safe. Cradling Słońce at night so she could sleep, standing guard as Król rested near the fire. They should be nearing Aedd Gynvael soon, then it would be their choice of inns and the promise of a good meal. Some sweets for Słońce maybe. Would she like a dumpling with fruit? Maybe some toffee. Buy her a new dress and fine shoes, if there was a contract. There was always something near big cities like that.

A Kaedweni stout for his trouble, some good tobacco…

The sound of heavy bells woke him, still astride his mount and the little one pressed against his chest. She was not singing anymore but reciting something, focusing he could hear the beginnings of a fairy tale. A beautiful princess harboring a dangerous beast, cursed to become a dragon every night.

“How long was I asleep?” How far had they traveled? It was a good road, gait steady, slow. 

“A- A day. I was wor- worried but you ha- ha- hadn’t slept for a long- long time. I talked to Hal through- through the bo- box. He is fu- fun- funny. His elder speech is bad.”

“It really is; your’s is good. I liked your song.” Losing a day was unnerving. A lifetime ago he had lost three days after a particularly awful contract, impaled through the shoulder, poisoned. Succubus of all things, he had been careless and young. Cocky, because he was good looking, had a reputation for denying all women who wanted him. The perfect witcher to stop her. He was not expecting cruelty, not expecting her to have an alchemist lab to create new and dangerous concoctions to force her victims to further sate her. So many bodies, so many fumes. It ended with her scythe buried in his shoulder, his silver blade in her heart. Three days until he could lick his wounds properly, returning to Tir Tochair after a week of travel. Wiser now, reminded every time he rolled away during a fight. The pain kept him focused.

This time, there was no scar or ache when he woke. Instead there was warmth, syrupy and thick settling in his head. This was the feeling of love, of waking up at home.

“A bard sang it. His name was pretty. I did- didn’t get to meet him, but he- he- he left flowers. These ones.” A pale hand adjusted her flower crown, silver hair sticking up and filthy. Carefully, so carefully, he smoothed it down, tucking a lock behind her ear. Not many bards even tried to sing in elder speech these days, their audiences superstitious of elves and their words.

“Was his elder speech good?”

“No, worse than unc-” Słońce stopped herself.

“What were you going to say?” Gentle, encouraging. He wanted her to say it.

“Hal said I- I- I could call him uncle Hal, if- if I want to.”

“What he really wants to be called is ‘Papa’, but he’s shy.”

“Ca- ca- can I call you ‘father’?”

“If you want.” Adorable. Almost too much for him.

Aedd Gynvael was active, far more than he would have thought on such a dreary day. Children ran underfoot, stores peddle their wares outside. Through the cacophony of noise, of voices, there was music. A voice he had only heard a handful of times in the past 3 decades. Geralt’s bard. That name of said bard escaped him at the moment, but there was one thing he remembered clearly. Wherever that bard appeared, Witchers were welcomed and work was plentiful. A true boon.

Leading Król through the crowded streets, they arrived at an inn with a fine stable tucked behind it. Large and smelling of good food and fine food, voices raised in song. Merriment was not his forte but it did lighten his mood. Happy people ignored him as he enjoyed his drink. Drunk people were easily dispatched when they challenged him. Full taverns gave better deals on rooms. A light pocket felt heavier when there was joy in the air. The stable boy took the reins, leading them into a stable stall, out of the rain.

Blessed relief.

Two ducats were reasonable, easily passed from his purse to the boy’s. After dismounting and helping Słońce down, they made their way inside. Only after renting a room could he bring their spare clothes in. Leather about his waist creaked when he found a seat at an empty table. Słońce didn’t sit with him right away, her eyes watching looking right at the bard. Dressed all in blue and purple, dancing like he was half his age. Smelling of magic, and something soft. Lavender. His voice sounded the same after all these years, belting out his most well known ballads.

It certainly grated his nerves hearing the light, joyous rendition of ‘Geralt the Witcher’. The entire tavern singing along with abandon, tossing their coins into the air, as became tradition since said Geralt had not traveled with the bard in many a year. The innkeeper made her way to their table, placing a tankard of ale on the table.

“Bard bought everyone a round during ‘Toss a coin’. You’re lucky.”  _ Yes, Lucky. _

“Thanks, have you something for the little one?”

“Goat’s milk or apple juice?” Fear soured the sweet milk smell at his side. Słońce buried her face into his side, nose pressed into the wet leather under his arm. Right. She was afraid of crowds. He had almost forgotten.

“Juice, and some stew and bread.” She was reasonable it seemed, offering him kind eyes before heading back into the frey. The song came to an end, the bard chuckling as a rain of coins fell into his offered hat. Showing a touch of white in his hair, at the temples. He called out that he was taking requests now, a coin for a song. That would do. Gently, Dawid pushed Słońce from his side, looking into her eyes. Little tears. Carefully he ran a knuckle to clean off her lashes, then produced a coin from his purse. “Go meet the bard, ask for a song.”

Her smile was pure sunshine. She took the coin and carefully made her way through the crowd, carefully stepping through legs and around chairs. No one had taken the bard up on his offer, leaving Słońce to hold up the coin carefully. Her voice was softer than ever, stuttering out her request. ‘Jaskier’, as he introduced himself, knelt down to her level, promising a private concert of such a sad song. Damn. At least the little one was smiling, eagerly returning to Dawid’s side.

“Ah, I will admit that when the young lady appeared before me looking every bit like the young Lion Cub of Cintra, I expected my closest and dearest friend Geralt of Rivia. But who sits before me is not so dear a friend but a witcher nonetheless. Might I ask before serenading the young lass, your eyes?” Jaskier’s reputation preceded him,  every bit as loud and jovial . Geralt must have had a well of patience as deep and infinite as chaos. Personally, Dawid preferred his company to be brilliant and shy, drawing little attention if they can.

“They’re blue.”

“Right, yeah, to meet another witcher and they share the same dry wit. Does it come with age I wonder? Please, spare me and grant the blessing of an explanation?”

“Mutagens don’t affect us equally. Some die during the trial, some soon after. Some lose their minds, their legs, their sight. Rarer still, some gain incredible powers, becoming witchers. Rarest of all, some continue the trial. New powers, new strength, or a pair of eyes that look, at first glance, human. Witcher Geralt, his hair turned white.”

“Now that is a story worthy of a ballad! You, sir witcher, are very sensible. Now, little one, you requested ‘Tá gliondar sa saol’, but why such a somber song?”

“Learn to speak Elder, then you will know why.” Jaskier sputtered out tuneless, outraged syllables. Clutching at his doublet, wounded by his words. Easily riled, unrestrained with his emotions and expressions. Endlessly entertaining. Even Słońce was smiling, shoulders moving with stifled laughter. His lips threatened to turn up in a smug smirk, charmed by the man’s lack of charisma.

“Then teach me! At the very least translate it for me. I have scoured The Continent for a translation, even those who claimed to speak Elder could not provide an adequate translation. For such a poetic sounding piece, the translations were hideous. No form in verse, or prose in structure. Now that I think about it…” Cornflower blue, smelling of flowers. Of curiosity. Magic. Not a curse but something benevolent. Sweet to the tongue, sour when he sniffed sharply.

“Do you remember love? 

The heartbreak of love?

Not now but music of the night

I am eternal in love” Słońce voice barely heard as the Innkeeper came over with their dinner, placing the full bowls down a little heavier than necessary. Jaskier paid her with a few coins from his hat, taking the opportunity to pluck at his lute. Finding the melody for the song.

“Lovely. Star-shine you have a poet’s soul. Please continue!” Before she could speak again Dawid handed her a bowl, pressing a spoon into her hand.

“Witchers, and their companions, don’t work for free.”

“Ah, of course. How does... Now that you mention it, I am in need of your services.” Like a secret the bard’s voice lowered, leaning in as if he was entitled to the space the table created between them. A hand sneaking out to stake claim over the wood. Interesting.

“What monster do you need hunted?”

“None, but I am in desperate need of a skilled wall of muscle as a guide to Kaer Morhen. Something of a rendezvous is promised to me should I make the trek but the path is dangerous. Or so I am told. I’ve never made the journey without a witcher at my side... You do not share his scowl. The creatures that haunt the nearby forest probably won’t be as intimidated.” He talked with his hands as much as his words, moving about like he simply could not sit still.

“My enemies never see me before they die, if I intend to kill them.”

“Right, intimidation is in fact one of your many skills, duly noted.”

“Lying is not one of yours. You reacted passively to my words, almost eager to hear them. Not that it matters. I’ll be your guide, under a few conditions.”

“What would you ask of me, witcher?”

“Three days stay at the inn, a change of clothes for her. Supplies for the trip.”

“Is that all? Your rates are certainly reasonable.”

“Conveniently I had plans to travel to Kaer Morhen. Any coin to have to offer me would be spent on such things, better not to put a price on it. Now, the lady paid, you owe her a song, Jaskier.” There was a spike of something in his expression before he leaned back, casually strumming his lute and beginning the tune. His Elder Speak was terrible. His singing voice fine enough, could do without the fake sadness he poured into the words. It wasn’t a sad song. Nothing like that torch song that the bard had written years ago.

Słońce pulled at his bracer, passing the bowl back to him and reaching for her juice. Her voice so hushed that he had to bend his ear to hear it. Singing along with the feeling that best suited it, not longing but understanding. Hopeful. Of course he shouldn’t, but with a swig of ale in his belly he began to sing softly along with her. Soon enough Jaskier carefully lowered his voice until it was the witcher and his little star-shine singing to each other. Perfect Elder Speak, their accents matching. The last time he had been so moved was when he saw Ciri and Geralt sitting with one of his books of poetry, smiling at each other. His throat closed up, heart aching. Gods he missed them both.

“For untrained voices, you sounded lovely together.”

“You smell of heartbreak.” Jaskier barked out a breathless laugh, sounding like someone punched him in the gut.

“I said those very words to the White Wolf of Rivia when we first met; I was but a humble bard then. Not a coin to my name with stale bread in my pants. Tell me witcher, what does heartbreak smell like?” Maybe the answer would be poetic enough to put to song, or it would cause laughter so great his sides would split from it. Dawid breathed deeply, taking in the smells around him, of the bard in front of him. Easy enough to ignore the smells that persisted in any large city and tavern. Urine, stale ale, sweaty bodies, sex. Baked bread and sweets, rotting vegetables, tarnished metals, rusted iron.

Jakier smelled of spring, flowers and fresh rain. Of soaps and salts, perfumed with light scents. Happiness, which smelled of fresh summer fruits just before they were ripe enough to eat. Curiosity, more of tickle on the nose than a smell, dandelion puffs sticking to your upper lip. Heartbreak, the first smell of winter after the harvest.

“It smells like…”

“But he smells like flowers.” A voice strong and firm, a small hand holding tight to his. Her interruptions were starting to become a habit, not that he knew her habits after only spending a month with her. Maybe Jaskier put her at ease.

“Yes I do starshine, one must be a feast for all senses to be a bard.”

“Słońce.”

“Beg pardon?”

“Her name is Słońce.”

“Right, sunshine from her eyes, instead of the twinkle of hair.” She giggled, hiding her face behind Dawid’s arm where he could feel her blushing. Easily swayed by tender words, or she was developing a crush on the bard. Doubtful, not when she had openly shared her affection for Janusz while they accepted his hospitality. Anything was possible after all. More than a century walking the Path left little room for surprises.

“So, shall we start shopping today, or did you want to handle your…” Jaskier trailed off, gesturing to them both with a wave of his hand. They didn’t smell, but in Słońce’s stringy, unkempt hair he could see Geralt, a week or longer without a bath or contract. He could see Ciri coming to him for help after being on the run for so long. It was a bittersweet feeling to say the least. At Kaer Morhen was Ciri, paying her respects to the fallen and then, then she was going to see Geralt. Jaskier would embrace her and sing ‘The Lion Cub of Cintra’ and she would sing along since she knew all the words by heart.

Dawid never did get to explain what heartbreak smelled like. He must reek of it.

“A room, we have been travelling for a long time now.”

“Does she have a change of clothes? No use bathing without something clean to change into.”

“No- Nothing clean. Dawid gave me a shi- shi- shirt for when we wash my clothes.”

“Then off with you both, I am going to buy you something clean to wear! Something bright and pretty for the little witcher, and something black from the big one.” Jaskeir placed a handful of coins on the table, emptying his hat into his purse then placing the bright fabric on his head. 

“It doesn’t have to be black.” Better he take the coin now, less the bard take back his coin. Not that he would, they had a contract and there were no other witchers near that could take it.

“And ruin perfectly nice fabric with monster bile, and blood stains? No, no you shall not. I did not travel with a witcher to learn nothing; you will get black, witcher ‘Dawid’.” That was that. Jaskier had stood with a flourish, slinging his lute onto his back. A bow and a wink then he was out the door, leaving the smell of flowers behind. Słońce finished her juice and placed the cup on the table, looking down at her lap while Dawid finally started eating. She had questions but she was being patient, thoughtful that he had gone so long without hearty food. It was a good stew. Once the bowl was empty, she spoke.

“I- I like him.”

“Best not to get attached, we will live much longer than he will. Humans live only 1 lifetime.”

“Mag- mag- magic, he- he- he-” Stuttering, flustered. A hand placed on her head, petting her softly.

“I know.”


	3. A Scent of Silver

“Like stars above the Path, are your eyes

A cup full of delight, your lips

Everything reminds me of you, walking along

I sing to myself to keep me warm” Jaskier’s voice was clear and bright, echoing off the mountain side as they traveled along the abandoned trail. Król walked ahead with Słońce sitting in the saddle. She was so small on his back, sitting side saddle because her legs were too short to straddle the large horse. Dress bright against the dark coat. Looking so happy in green and white, and with more flowers woven into her crown. Yellow buttercups and red roses. She hummed along with Jaskier as he walked at her side.

“Rain falls upon me, cold and fresh

Washing away your mark upon my skin

Today, tomorrow, I want to see you so much

Again, at least a shadow, my old love” Another torch song, maudlin, just like the last one. This one was unpolished, something written when he was younger maybe, something unfinished. Dawid preferred it over Jaskier’s more famous work. They had been travelling together for a week or so at this point, and everyday Słońce wanted him to sing so they worked through his work quickly. Unquenchable desire for more songs she had never heard before, for works the bard admitted he had never sung for anyone before. Including this one it seemed. Jaskier hummed melodically along with his lute, consumed by his emotions.

“Because, the heart like a beggar does plead

At crossroads wandering all alone

When I look at the sky, I always

Feel a stellar cold, in your eyes” There wasn’t much more to the song, only humming and light vocalizing. Fingers playing delicately and Jaskier’s voice catching the spring breeze as it brought cold air from the mountains into the valley. Dawid looked to the bard as the last notes faded, eyes of cornflower blue looked mournfully into the sky. Heartbreak. It was a constant smell about him. If Dawid had not known the smell by heart he would have mistaken it as part of Jaskier’s natural odor. Much like the smell of buttercups. 

“Ja- Jas- Jaskier, that song was sad. Did- did- did someone break you- your heart?”

“Ah, yes. It is a long story sunshine, one that has spanned decades and is without a happy ending.” Decades old, years and years of watching the person who had held his heart in their hands leave with another time and time again. How was he to explain to a child, a brilliant child but a child nonetheless, that his heart was not broken on purpose? It was broken as one would break a glass, by accident. Simply, brushed from the table because it had not been seen, or forgotten in the moment. Always forgotten in the moment...

“Few endings are happy, even fairy tales have their tragedies.” Dawid spoke softly, recalling the words. No recollection of where or whom he had heard them from, only that it had been when he was still a child. Words best used to speak to children.

“Ooh, now that is a fabulous line for a ballad! What wonderful company you both are, I have not been so inspired since… It’s been at least a year since my last adventure. Time certainly does pass in a flash.” No use correcting the bard, he knew nothing of watching a kingdom rise and fall within your lifetime. Humans had no idea how short their lives truly were, or how much of an impact they could leave when they passed. Jaskier would live on in his songs. For generations. Even if it was only 5 or 6, Dawid would still hear them sung. Stories of Witchers. Of fallen royalty. Love, both his own and others. 

Słońce would probably sing all of his songs longer still. All the ones that never had an audience before, or those people would rather forget. Maybe Dawid would have Hal scribe them for her, tomes of music by Julian Alfred Pankratz. A collection of his poems as well. He barely knew the man that rode alongside his ward but, he felt that the world would be less without memory of him. Even if it was only his art, he should live on.

Does destiny protect this child? How else did a man with such a sordid past, and dangerous, powerful friends otherwise survive? She must have a hand in this all, why else would Dawid feel such a desire to protect the man?

“You must spend your winters comfortably if you think that. Winter passes slowly.” It was an easy enough segue, focusing on the conversation and not getting wrapped up in thought. After all, they had a week or so of travel until they reached Kaer Morhen; more than enough time to justify his desire to protect and befriend the bard.

“I do in fact, I’m a professor you know. Molding young minds in the Seven Liberal Arts, only in winter when the stars are brightest and roads simply too harsh for my tastes.”

“Would you not desire to travel then, to see the stars at their brightest.”

“Yes, well… I once spent a winter at Kaer Morhen, I wrote many a ballad and poem within those walls… Yet, it was not something I desired repeating. I preferred the company of my students and the teachers, to the ghosts of witchers’ and darkened halls.”

“I remember hearing about the raid. It was both the last and first thing I expected to happen. People fear us witchers, it never keeps them away forever.”

“They never told me the story but I could read it on the stones and in their eyes; you just have to know what to look for.”

“You have to know war Jaskier. Do you?”

“Yes, I know it.” Something tense passed between them. Jaskier’s hands had been still too long and Dawid felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise in defence. Not from the knowledge that he was going to be struck, no. It was the feeling that someone was only telling a partial truth. Deliberately withholding information. Silence. An animal scampered across the trail. Heavy hooves steady and even.

“Will- will- will you sing a- a- another song?” Jaskier plucked his lute enthusiastically at Słońce’s request, playing something light-hearted. Something to sing along to in a tavern.

That night as they settled down to sleep, with Słońce curled in Dawid’s lap, he found himself watching the bard as he laid out his bedroll. Well practiced motions. Efficient. Too much like how he laid out his own bedroll earlier that evening, before he went off in search of fresh meat. It wasn’t a secret that Jaskier had spent decades travelling alongside Geralt, nor was it a secret that the bad had spent the past 6 years in and out of court with some regularity. This roll smelled too used, no musty or dusty smell. Freshly aired out. Should have noticed it two days ago when they first made camp outside. Too focused on making sure that Słońce’s new clothing was kept dry and clean.

“When did you see Geralt last?” Jaskier paused in the act of laying his lute to rest on his bedroll. Caught out completely by the question. Feeling suspiciously like he was preparing to steal away in the night from a married woman’s bed. Dawid was accusing him of something. So he carefully turned about, sitting down upon his bed so that he was watching the witcher through the fire. In the lack of light it was so easy to forget that he was a witcher and the little thing sleeping in his lap wasn’t Ciri. In bright blue, Słońce could have been Ciri’s double.

Silence. Contemplation and then Jaskier smiled. Strained and only surface deep.

“Excuse me?”

“When, did you last see Geralt?”

“Right, well, it was a little over, a few years ago. He saved me from a particularly nasty situation I ended up in, not that I needed his help.” Laughter, weak and sad.

“How long have you been looking for him?” That scowl was just as powerful without yellow glowing in the fire light. Dawid did not have patience. Where Geralt would hum and scoff, this witcher spoke openly, pointedly. Like interrogation. His back aching, remembering those times when Geralt was being hunted, when Jaskier ran his mouth at the wrong people who wanted nothing more than to hang the Witcher by his neck. Geralt was safe, far from here. He assumed.

Ciri was waiting at Kaer Morhen, the rest of the school scattered to the wind to seek coin for monsters slain. Priscilla settled in Novigrad, writing songs about failed loves. Everyone had a fairy tale ending.

“I’m sure I have no idea what you are talking about, Geralt is happy and safe with his lady fair. Retired from all this monster hunting business.”

“Witchers do not retire. And you’re lying.” Lying? Not at all. Simple ignorance. With a flourish Jaskier spread his doublet, reclining as best he could in his silks. A rock just under him that he forgot to clear away earlier. Knee knocking the lute case.

“Of course I am, lying is but another tool I use in my profession. My lute, my clothes, my perfumes, and my lies.” Chipper but strained. Witcher hearing catching the thin thread of emotion that wove its way through the truth of his words. The only truth he had spoken since the conversation earlier.

“Have you been chasing rumors across the Continent?”

“I have never known another witcher to ask so many questions about one of their own before. Not a talkative bunch.”

“The school of the wolf never was the type to hoard knowledge, always hunting and hibernating. I’m from the school of the viper, we slunk in the dark, striking with twin fangs, hoarding knowledge. We talk, and ask questions; and we know when someone is lying to us, or themselves. Speak the truth.”  _ Fuck. _ Of all the witchers that Jaskier had come to be acquainted with, this one was the worst.

Vesemir was crotchety, but for good reason; he was the oldest. Eskel, ever reliable and noble brother of Geralt, in family and not by blood. Lambert, Lambert, he’s a prick/ Rarely does he wash his dick/ Perhaps he will one day/ Spare the woman with whom he lay/ The night will be over quite quick. An unfortunate run in with Letho the Kingslayer, who had held a dagger to his throat before letting him go.  _ ‘You are afraid of me, good. You still have sense in your head.’ _

“I am telling the truth, to us both. After the halting of the Frost, after… after learning more than I ever wanted about what can and has happened in this world, among others… Geralt and his lady fair, Yennefer, have retired somewhere safe to live out their long, long lives happy and comfortable. It is the least he deserves.”

“You’re in love with him.” Was he really so obvious? Of course he was obvious, because he had been in love with Geralt for decades. Gods when had it started? After meeting Filavandrel, when they were spared. Seemingly saved by Geralt’s words. Or was it later when he stood before a Queen to protect a cursed man, helping him claim his child surprise. Later still when he had seen Geralt… Jaskier sighed heavily, situating his tired body onto the roll, old straw pillow tucked under his head. He was too old for this, for unrequited love and lust for someone he could never have.

“You are certain witcher Dawid? What makes you so?”

“You stink of it, love and heartbreak.”

“I take great offence to the term ‘stink’, if I could smell ‘love’ and ‘heartbreak’ I think they may actually be quite pleasant smelling. I would think that ‘love’ would smell of something light and flowery. Or something sweet, like freshly baked sweets.” There was no outrage in his voice, reciting the words as if he was reciting a play. Swapping in the correct words to address his audience. Waxing poetically to fill the space.

Dawid carefully rearranged the sleeping girl on his lap, laying down on his own bedroll before pulling his cloak over their bodies. Tucking her in against his chest, an arm wrapped around her as he always did when they slept under the stars. His empty hand carefully removed her flower crown so that it would not be damaged when she inevitably nuzzled against his armor in her sleep. He took a deep breath. Fire burning and coals smoldering. Worn bedrolls and the horses. Leather and perfumed silk. Heartbreak, love, worry. Exhaustion. Hurt.

Love never smelled nice. Always something that left your heart racing, aching.

“Heartbreak smells cold, like the coming winter. Love, the kind you feel for your witcher. It smells like many things because nothing smells quite like it. It is unique to each person, to each lover they take, in degrees. You. Your love reeks of threadbare sheets and freshly honed silver. It’s the silver, wholly unique to those that fall in love with witchers.”

“I’m sure you’ve met many then? Fools that have want and need of a witcher for more than hunting monsters, foolish enough to give their heart over?” Asked without the warm timbre that the bard had used until now. Harsh tones were sour, misplaced in the bard’s tenor voice.

“Not many, only a few.” Not that Dawid needed to know more than one. Decades later he still could remember the day that he started smelling it, that honed silver smell. Hal had dragged him from a watery grave, crying and cursing every God that dared to let him die. After coughing up water, working the salt from his nose it was right there. Mixing with iron and oil, old parchment and ink, cotton and wool. Honed silver and desperation. Years later, the portal on the mountain top. Only then did he learn what the smell was.

“How can you be so sure with only a few examples? How do you know that all this has been just your failed attempt at concocting a story about why I travel to Kaer Morhen, seeing romantic entanglement between friends?”

“Because I  _ know _ , Jaskier. Any man who has found love knows what it looks like in others.”  _ Smells, not looks. _ But he could see it too. Especially in such an expressive person. Wore his heart on his sleeve. Exposed and giving.

“Your acting is quite impressive, I almost believed you. ‘I _ know _ , Jaskier’. Very convincing.” Bitter. Angry. Hurting, Jaskier was hurting. A witcher he barely knew could smell it on him, that could only mean that Geralt could smell it too. Geralt must know, but said nothing. Rejection. Not that he ever thought he had a chance, not when Yennefer was alive. How was anyone else worthy? She would live for ages as beautiful as the day they were bound to one another. She saved Geralt’s life, and sacrificed her own for his. If not for Ciri…

Destiny had her way, Yennerfer was there to save Geralt on that day. Then Geralt was there to put in motion the events that would bring the Frost to an end. Everyone lived, and got what they wanted. Jaskier was but a humble bard, watching Destiny’s plan unfold and retelling it. As he always had. Since that day in Posada.

“Sleep, bard. There is time to talk tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier is singing a ballad, from "The Hexer' TV show, one of the first adaptations of the Witcher series. It is called "Jak Gwiazdy Nad Traktem" or "The Stars above the Path", you can search the polish title on YouTube if you want to hear it.
> 
> I did modify it to fill out the verses, as well as adjusting the translation for flow, but I tried to stay as true as I could to the original.


	4. A Life Lived

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Okay so this chapter is a bit of a mess but honestly I am trying to get to the good part~ And I hope you are enjoying this as I sporadically update)

Dawid landed a vicious kick on the wolf that charged at him, and Jaskier was in awe. He had stepped off the path for just a moment! Just to refill his waterskin from the nearby stream, he knew exactly where it was, no threat at all. There shouldn’t have been a threat at all but, of course, danger was just around the next tree. An entire pack of hungry wolves, now easily being cut down. Where Geralt had been a force of nature, like whipping wind made of steel with firm and powerful blows. Dawid was patient, waiting for just the right moment to strike with lethal blows. How did he not notice before? Witchers fought like the animals they wore. Wolves stalked with raw strength rippling through their muscles, and Vipers moved silently, coiling to kill in a single strike.

Jaskier watched from the sidelines expecting to see a flash of silver hair and the hulking figure of Geralt instead of Dawid’s lack thereof. A nostalgic feeling, aches in his knees fading, hands gripping at nothing. He wasn’t writing anything down! Lyric after lyric formed then dissipated into smoke. Such prowess must be captured! They’ll declare him a master twice over should he craft a whole new collection of Witcher songs. Where was his notebook? In his saddlebag? Waterskin forgotten, he dug through his pack, shuffling it about in a manner where all his containers of oils and salts collided. Glass jars and metal tins making a racket. Jaskier yanked out the notebook with a smile, that fell when his eyes met those of a wolf. Must have caught its attention with all the noise he had been making.

A ghost of a smile, a huff of a laugh escaped the bard as he thought about all the warnings Geralt had growled at him over the years. There was poetic irony in dying at the hands of a wolf, when the words of The White Wolf would have saved him. Reaching the end with a weak smile and thinking of his witcher, that seems apt.

The wolf before him crouched and charged. 1 step, 2 steps… Magic, whispy and blue surged at the corner of his vision, the wolf knocked completely on its side. A flash of polished steel, blood spilling onto the ground, glossy red on matte green. Dawid rose from a crouch, pulling his blade free from the dead wolf. There were only two wolves left alive, pacing back and forth between the trees. Snarling, baring their fangs. A scent of sunshine, a careful movement in the witcher’s hand. The wolves stopped, lifting their heads and raising their tails. Pacified. Jaskier knew this sign, but it only ever worked on 1 person or animal.

“Good work Słońce. How long will it last?” Ah, yes. The little sorceress; now that was certainly a fun thing to discover. Her little talent for reaching inside his mind and encouraging the best stories to the surface with just her eyes. Asking in her small voice, as if it was a secret, why his greatest fear was Geralt losing his life, again. Precious little thing that she was, she promised that his secret was safe with her.

“An hour, ma- maybe.”

“More than long enough. Grab your water Jaskier.” Dawid walked back to the horses. Listening for two pairs of feet behind him. Luckily the horses were well trained, waiting for their riders to return without making a fuss. Not a snort or whinny. Good. Last thing they needed was another delay for Dawid to rinse the smell of wolf off his armor. Słońce did not follow him back to the road, she stayed to talk with Jaskier. They were chattering on, best of friends. Humans were only mortal, they would grow old and die. Sooner than that, their paths will diverge. Jaskier will return to villages and towns, while they will hide in the stone walls of Kaer Morhen.

Dawid hasn’t told her yet. She would be devastated. From one stone fortress to another, even if Kaer Morhen practically touched the sky. He would take her to the top of the towers, so she could feel like a free lark. Singing until her voice echoed through the nearby trees and valleys. A prisoner still. That was even if Vesemir allowed it.

Word travelled back in those days, the cancellation of the tourney following the attack on the school of the wolf. The Cats preened knowing that their banishment had all but ended. Crowing with every step towards the mountain. Vesemir’s visage, standing alone at the gate armed with chains and swords, forcing them back when they came to claim the remains. The Cats hissed but scattered to lick their wounds.

In his old age, Vesemir may allow Dawid and his family to call the school home.

Best not to think of the future. In the here and now he fed the horses a handful of oats each as Jaskier stumbled back onto the trail, Słońce holding her own waterskin to her lips. A dried petal falling from her crown onto her hand.

“What other tricks do you have up your sleeve, sunshine? Illusions perhaps, what a team we could make! My tales brought to life through magic, my words dancing before their very eyes! We would be the talk of courts across the Continent.”

“I never learned illusions, but I- I could look into their minds. Tell- tell- tell you what they want to hear you pl- pl- play.”

“That would be a very useful skill indeed but it would make me lazy. A master bard, such as myself, must be able to read the chaos of the room. To look into the eyes of the crowd, see how they breathe and hold themselves, and know what it is they want of me.”

“You’d do well to deny them from time to time, offering yourself to others will only hurt you in the end.”

“What your father means sunshine, is that some people will want of you in ways that will only hurt, right then or later. I have had my share of trials where I nearly lost my head for giving so easily, but I have lived and will continue to do so. What worth does a long life have if you do not live it?” Dawid helped Słońce on to Król’s back, walking alongside after handing her the reins. She was the right age for learning to ride. So small. Children were so small. She smiled down at him, looking like sunshine. With a pat they started back on the trail, her delighted giggles filling the air.

“I am not Geralt. Your words are better saved for his ears.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Your words are rehearsed, meant for someone else. Anyone who knows your name would know that ‘someone else’ is Geralt.”

“As much as I loathe to prove you wrong, but I said those very words to another young lady when she thought giving meant suffering quietly in return.” Jaskier tried not to wither or wane under that gaze, every manner of look had been turned his way over the years but this one was rare. Being looked through but not undressed, not stripped bare.

“I was not wrong, and you would never loathe to prove someone wrong. This ‘young lady’, your daughter?”

“Of course not! I am far too yo- free spirited to have a child.”

“How old is she now?”

“24, next month, but she isn’t my child.”

“Are you close to her?”

“I’ve known her since she was born. On her name day the skies themselves wept with joy, birds sang when she laughed. Oh, to return to that day when she fit on my arm. She has grown into a beautiful woman but all I see is that small babe when I gaze upon her.”

“Isn’t my child’ he says, lying to yourself time and time again. That woman is your child, not by your seed or destiny, but by choice. Your love for her is true. Truer than most.”

“Right, then you know of true love?” Somewhere in his aging heart Jaskier knew better than to question a witcher about feelings, and the truth of their words. They were but men that walked this land, suffering and dying for a job that no man would volunteer for. They felt and lied as any man would. More than any man would. 

“I do. Słońce, my daughter, I love her without any ties binding us. True love.”

“And Papa too.” Słońce chimed in with her bell voice, happy and bright.

“‘Papa’? Who’s ‘papa’?”

“My husband.” For a blissfully brief moment Jaskier was spared thinking about those words as they entered his ears. Easy acceptance, and then he brought his horse to a stop by yanking the reins hard. Pegasus whinnied and fussed, stomping his hooves a few times before settling. Dawid stopped just ahead, turning back to look at him. Sad understanding in his eyes. All Witchers he had met at some time or another have worn that expression in his presence. But this, Dawid should not be wearing such a look. Hurting but accepting that it was their lot in life. 

“‘Husband’? You’ve taken a husband?!”

“Does it bother you? Is it where you draw the line?”

“Not at all!” Jaskier was quick to deny it. As if he could be bothered by such a thing. “I am… merely surprised.”

“Hmm. It is rare. Witchers travel alone, never truly retire. Wives, husbands, they are not meant for us just as the Path is not meant for them. Hal, my husband, was once an acquaintance, and then a friend. We travelled many years together before falling into bed.”

“How many?”

“25 travelling, 24 as husbands.”

“Your husband, is he human?” Dawid gave Pegasus’s snout a pat when he walked over before giving the reins a tug, taking them out of Jaskier’s hands. They had to keep moving, there was rain coming. While it wouldn’t last long it was going to be a downpour, and he knew without a doubt that his cloak was not going to be enough to stop Słońce from being soaked through. Along this trail there was a cave, big enough for waiting out the weather comfortably. While it had been many, many years since then Dawid recalled it easily. Vipers walking in single file, the elders walking silently while the young stomped noisily in the dirt. Reciting witcher history like a chant. The rhythmic sound of Eli tossing and catching a dagger behind him.

Jaskier had asked him a question.

“He is a mage. If he were human… I would have not denied him so long.”

“You loved him before bedding him? Why not- Why wait so long at all?” Jaskier clenched his fingers around nothing. In his early years he would pluck absently at his lute to soothe the restless energy in his body. Creating little nothings of songs and chattering away. These days his fingers would ache and the melodies were fewer. It had been years since he wrote something truly inspired. Priscilla’s poetry was like a storm ravaging the continent, wiping away any other song that came before it. Except for those about Geralt the white wolf. They were played as often as ever, poorly but what else could he ask for? A legacy for a bard was worth more than gold.

“He had fallen in love with others while travelling with me. So I was waiting, always, for the day when he would leave my side. I hadn’t known he loved me when I fell for him. His declaration of love is what brought us together. Being a mage he would live a long life, there was time to wait.” Jaskier tore his hat from his head and struck Dawid with it. Outrage pouring out of him.

It smelled like smithing slag, pure heat, and dry mountain caves.

“Fools! The lot of you! Not a single Witcher in this world dares to consider happiness for once in their stupidly long lives! Did you not know he was in love with you? Could you not smell it, or were you truly so obtuse that you denied happiness for you both over ‘what if’s? For a moment I was certain that you were the smartest, most reasonable monster hunter I had ever met. Truly a blessing but no, you are, like all the others, short of marbles!”

“Not your most poetic phrasing, Jaskier.” Destiny, the omnipotent bitch, had placed him here. She must have wanted to punish him. All transgressions, insults, and affairs paid for with his suffering. Dawid was so much like Geralt, at least the Geralt that had willingly sought him out those years later. More emotion dancing across his face but a weariness to his words. Laughing easily with a smirk on his lips. Laughing at his expense. Just like trying to seduce that succubus and flubbing his lines...

“Forgive me Witcher, poetic words could never truly capture my outrage. I had to settle for simpler ones.” No heat in his voice, the fire gone from him. After all, the anger was misplaced. He was angry, knowing truly, and fully now that Geralt had known about Jaskier’s love for him, rejecting him with his silence. Maybe that was why the incident on the mountain happened at all or why Geralt hadn’t met him outside of Oxenfurt University after the news of the victory at Brenna had spread. Despite the joyous atmosphere at his home in Lettenhove that summer he had kept his saddle bags packed, Pegasus rested just in case the next day Geralt would arrive at the Pankratz manor. Dawid offered the reins back to him but continued to walk by his side.

“Geralt may not know. May think it part of your natural scent, if he has only ever smelled it about you.”

“Never has a lie stunk so much of bullshit.”

“You- You’re ot sup- sup- supposed to speak that way in- in front of a lady.” Jaskier smiled to himself before bowing to Słońce, holding his hat to his chest as he did.

“Forgive me, my Lady, I apologize greatly for offending you.”

“It- It is alright. You are forgiven.”

“Your mercy is an endless well, sunshine.” With the tension gone they settled into silence. A rare comfortable silence. It continued until the sun dipped beyond the mountain and they were forced to make camp. There would be rain during the night, the scent building the longer they travelled. Dawid scenting the air as the sky turned black. No moon tonight. There would be no sleep for the witcher tonight, only meditation so that he could protect his charges from the creatures that lived in the darkness. A short list of what lived in these mountains running through his head.

Wolves, and harpies were the most likely. The harpies were always an infestation in late spring and early summer.

Jaskier approached with loud footsteps, practically an avatar of noise compared to the nature around them. A flutter of silk and jingle of buttons Dawid found himself sharing his bedroll with him. If nothing else Jaskier smelled nice; the lilac smell faded into almost nothing. Honed silver and wildflowers. Heartbreak. Destiny.

The scent of destiny was impossible to describe. Nothing smelled like it at all. Tendrils of magic that wrapped and floated about, making his nose crinkle when Jaskier made to go one way before deciding to go another. It clung to Jaskier and now to Dawid. She had placed an invisible hand on Dawid’s heart, her breath whispering into his ear. Never would he suffer fools lightly but here sat Jaskier, working the top button of his doublet open like he belonged, and Dawid felt they were friends.

“Can you truly say that Geralt doesn’t know I love him? Nearly 30 years side by side, and not once would he think that the smell of silver on my skin wasn’t simply part of me?”

“From your songs and stories? Possibly. Yet with my history, I am certain the answer is ‘yes’. I met him once, when he was very young. Before he even had a proper name. Angry, distrustful, but strong and fast. Like all boys, he made friends, fiercely loyal and acting as their defender. Never understanding that they didn’t want him to be. I do not doubt he remains incapable of understanding the feelings of others.” Jaskier’s scent was tickling his nose, fuzzy and bright. Questions lingering in the air. Opening one eye, Dawid saw so many emotions on the painting that was Jaskier’s face. Mixing and swirling together. Barely there wrinkles crinkling as the bard squinted in the dark.

“I feel like I can see him, but I only know golden cat’s eyes and white hair. Scars and harsh lines carved by time into his skin. I cannot think of him as anything but the man who has been my friend for many years.” There was no believing that Geralt was so incapable of understanding that someone loved him, but his aching heart felt better. The lie was a pretty little thing that smiled at him just right, offering him a flower, and a warm bed to share. A song was there, lies like bruxae, beautiful and welcoming until the truth reveals their monstrous form. Geralt would have hated such a song.

“His eyes were dark hazel, hair ashen blonde. A healthy tan in summer, burned bright red on his nose and cheeks. Had freckles like stars.” Little details, small things that he could recall after all this time. It was nearly a 100 years ago now but he could recall the young wolves pushing and fighting when lined up for training. A flash of red hair. A quiet child that smelled like magic. An angry boy with tears in his eyes. Vesemir taking that angry boy over his knee and spanking his bottom raw, and still the boy clenched his fist and fought back.

Jaskier’s laughter was much too loud in the dark, full bellied. Amusement smelling like hot sugar in the air.

“It seems that Geralt’s child could have easily been from his loins! Ashen blonde and hazel eyes! You, Dawid, have given to me a gift that will delight me until the day that I die. I will now see both the small babe and the angry boy when I look upon the fair and lovely Ciri!” Oh how Ciri would laugh as he told the tale of Geralt the Young, lies and truth weaving together as he did best. At their reunion at the empty halls of Kaer Morhen they would swap tales and laughter, imagining the hurried footsteps of children playing. Memories of a younger Vesemir walking through the halls, tone sharp with corrections. Easily picturing Ciri leaning back onto an old table with wet eyes, smiling and fighting back loud laughter.

“Geralt has a child?”

“Ah, right, yes. A child surprise. The woman of whom I spoke is Geralt’s, sheltered at Kaer Morhen. As was told to me, she trained with all of the Wolves who wintered there, and a Griffin who found his way to them in the cold. Unfortunately I did not have the chance to meet him before he was killed.”

“Monster?”

“Of the human variety. He volunteered at the Battle of Brenna where he was killed by Nilfgaard. His sword found itself in Gearalt’s hand and now hangs above a mantle in the great hall.”

“A shame; this is why we are advised to stay out of the affairs of men. Their wars are not ours to fight. Witchers aren’t human after the Trials.”

“Bollocks. I might have agreed with you years ago but I know it to be false. You’re more human than most people are, especially more human than any of those Nilfgaardians. Bastards, the lot of them. Bigots and cultists. Would have me hung for living the way I do, making friends with elves and dwarves, singing the praises of witchers. Wouldn’t be the first to try either.” A little laugh, weak and hurting. Heartbreak. Fear.

“Geralt always saved me. Just between you and me, I always lied to him that it would have worked out without him but it really wouldn’t have. I never want to die but at those moments, right before he came to my rescue I found myself at peace with my inevitable death. Then my heart would leap into my throat when light would catch Geralt’s hair, saved and alive I would sing my own praises, making myself into a hero.”

“Something tells me that he always wrote you off and asked you to explain how you ended up in peril.”

“Yeah, no, you’re right. Never lectured me on what I did, despite my failure to stay out of danger. Just asked me to explain myself.” There was a lapse, crickets filling the silence for a moment. Leaves rustling in the wind, Słońce sleeping quietly behind them. Embers rumbling and popping quietly in the dead fire.

“You should sleep Jaskier. We will reach Kaer Morhen before sundown tomorrow.” It was for the best. Rain was just beginning to fall.


	5. Vipers and Wolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (I made an edit because dammit I can. This is fanfiction and I make the rules!)

“Fa- Fa- Father, will we be there soon?” If not for his heightened hearing Dawid would not have heard Słońce over the heavy rainfall. It had started out as a light drizzle in the night, greying out the dawn. Usually mountain showers would pass when the day warmed with the sun but instead it got worse, heavy rain turning the trail under them into a mud slick. Jaskier hadn’t said a word in hours. Muttering, complaining to himself, that his lute was going to warp if he dared to play somewhere between the first step onto the Witcher’s Trail and stopping for a midday meal.

“Soon enough.” Sunset had been all but obscured by the thick clouds but he could feel it in his bones, they were close. Even if there was no fire, getting out of the rain would be welcomed. It wasn’t so cold that either of his traveling companions were at risk of death but they could still get sick. Słońce had been sniffling since he joined her on horseback. His cloak was soaked through but still warm. He couldn’t feel her through the armor so he couldn’t tell if she was running a fever. She didn’t smell sick. At least not sick enough to smell over the rain.

A little farther. Just a little more.

Beyond the next curve the carved stones of Kaer Morhen’s walls stood proud. Looking a bit worse for wear but that mattered not when it was clear that the heavy rain eased at the gate. The higher the keep was the drier it remained. A more than welcomed sight. Dawid let out a low whistle, calling Jaskier’s attention. Assuming that the man was looking down at the river of mud underfoot.

Jaskier had been looking down, watching the water run off his hat, down the drooping feather, and drip onto his mount’s neck. It was mildly entertaining. Certainly better than thinking about all the thoughts he had while falling asleep last night.

Thoughts about Geralt.

Things had never been simple when it came to his relationship with Geralt but before everything transpired it was certainly simpler. Geralt walked his path and Jaskier walked by his side when he could, drifting in and out of his friend’s life. Even after Geralt drove him away Jaskier would eventually drift back onto the Witcher’s path looking for inspiration. No apology offered, no apology requested. It was like the mountain never happened. Then it just… Hadn’t. Geralt had his memory stolen. It was like they met again for the first time but instead of being young and eager to make a name for himself, he was jaded and old. Cocky. Singing his own praises because he could, because Geralt would find him and protect him as he had done time and time again.

Sure as rain fell, Geralt saved him again. And again. Except, the Geralt that cheekily echoed Jaskier’s words back when prompted, the one who chuckled behind his tankard at Jaskier’s antics, that Geralt was gone. At first, and then Jaskier fell in love all over again. Geralt was so ready to accept their friendship, so eager to include him. They drank together, played together. Jaskier would speak with authority while telling him tales and Geralt would slowly smile, chuckle even if they hadn't had enough to drink. The memories came back, in fragments. As far as Geralt could tell, he called them friends but couldn’t remember everything. He trusted and accepted Jaskier because it ‘felt right’.  _ ‘Not unlike my blade, I know when it feels right. The balance, the weight. It’s comfortable.’ _

Last night he came to realize that Geralt may have once known that Jaskier had fallen in love with him, but now? Not a clue. Honed silver scent? Not love but simply the smell that clings to a human when they travel with a Witcher. Maybe he thought it the silver dagger that Jaskier kept in his boot, or the silver chain around his neck. Who knew? Dawid could have just fanned the flames of hope because he, like all witchers, was terrible when dealing with emotions. No one wanted to spend their time with a heartbroken bard.

“Jaskier.” Dawid’s voice rumbled, thunder to the crack of lightning that lit up the valley. Oh, well, that is certainly a problem. Jaskier lifted his head just in time to catch Dawid’s eyes adjusting, opening from slits as the light faded. It went without saying that Jaskier knew very little about lightning but something that was once explained clearly to him, was that metal swords should never be drawn when there was lightning. There was little doubt that a Witcher would survive if struck but on a path so thin, it would be a risk to them all. They had to get out of this storm.

Jaskier encouraged Pegasus forward when Dawid dismounted with Słońce tucked tightly against his chest. A moment later the little ward was pressed into his back, small hands buried into his soaked doublet.

“I am going to ride ahead. Keep pace as best you can. Sing if you can, I will hear you and know if I have to slow down.” No room for argument. Not that he would. When one found themselves too close to war, especially where there were mages among soldiers, you see the aftermath of such power. Słońce might not have the power to protect them, Dawid might not be fast enough to shield them from it. Lightning would be the death of them. He couldn’t fault Dawid’s logic. This was safer, losing a horse was not as tragic as anything that might happen to Słońce.

Dawid snapped Król’s reins and off they took.

Jaskier was close behind, one hand tangled in his reins and the other bent behind him to hold onto Słońce. She had been learning to ride but that was slow, careful, and even; at full gallop she was at risk of falling off. If Dawid trusted Jaskier enough to take care of his daughter then he was going to his very best not to let that trust go to waste. The lightning struck closer this time, just behind them on one of the higher trees. Sounding like bombs and left a ringing in Jaskier’s ears, nothing like the magic of battle mages. That was always a crackle, a fizzle, something controlled. The raw chaos of wild lightning was so much more frightening to his ears. Even as he urges his horse faster to keep pace with Dawid, he thinks music could never capture the chaos that surrounded them. Not music as he knows it at least, maybe one day, when he is grey and tired, he could contract a mage to send him to somewhere unknown and learn new music. Something he would never have known otherwise.

Subversion was a way forward, instead of delicately crafted melodies he could try something raw, something instinctual. Abandoning thoughts of sharp chords and plucked sounds, Jaskier thought instead of raised voices, the singing of swords. The clang of silver as it met bone, or a chain against stone. Tone but without refinement. With it in mind he let out a low note that grew in volume and pitch. Back down, but still as loud, screaming in tune. Close but not quite there. Something to consider later when they were out of the rain.

Lightning struck again, into the valley to their right. Pegasus let out a panicked whinny and stumbled in his gait. By sheer luck they remained upright on the path and with a sharp tug Jaskier kept them heading to the keep. Słońce was crying into his back, a hot wet spot where her tears soaked through to his skin. Terrified beyond words, and he was nearly as frightened. Last time he had been thrown from a horse was when he was young, spry and flexible. While he was scared then, he was back on his feet a moment later. It would be different now, he would either tumble to his death in the valley or break something, beside his lute, if thrown now.

He could see the flash Król’s black tail, just at the edge of his vision through the rain. Pegasus was not as large a horse as Król so the distance was only increasing. Yet Kaer Morhen was so close, just a few minutes more. No need to raise his voice, instead he could focus on soothing his companion. Just a little more. Almost safe. Heavy hooves over the sturdy wooden bridge, a sudden right, the roof above offering a respite from the rain before they entered the main courtyard. Jaskier slowed Pegasus into a trot, turning his eyes up at the massive keep. Gods, it looked awful.

Kaer Morhen mourned as much as the wolves did. A sadness and darkness clung to the eroding stones, darkening every door and window. Did anyone tend to these grounds, in the memory of the School of the Wolf? Certainly not Geralt or Lambert, they had ladies faire to pamper. Perhaps Eskel? Would he remain here all alone? Jaskier recalled that Eskel was the most social of the wolves, always playing games with a soft smile on his face. Sharing stories when the drinks were spread across the table, laughing at Geralt when his words began to slur.

A bare pole, that once might have carried a banner, caught the next flash of lightning, sparking bright against the white mountain tops, pulling Jaskier out of the moment. While the courtyard was spared the worst of the storm the lightning and thunder echoed off the store walls. He remembered the way to the great hall and encouraged Pegasus to head there. It would be good practice to lead the horse to the stables but who knows what kind of condition they would be in. No, it would be better to get into the hall first, then stable the horse.

The door to the great hall was open. From inside metal met metal. Jaskier felt the eager drive to catch the fight, that echo of his younger self pushing him into the large hall to catch the spark of silver on steel.

Ciri was as beautiful and fierce as ever. Eyes as sharp as her blade and hair glowing in the light of the fire that blazed in the massive fireplace. The hall was hardly cool, but she had been drying her clothes after she was caught out in the rain. She had been haunting the keep for a week at this point, waiting for Jaskier to arrive. Her plan had been simple, make as many repairs to the keep on her own that she could, then portal to Corvo Bianco with Jaskier, and Geralt. So imagine her surprise, while wringing the water from her hair through the heavy doors burst a large horse with an unknown witcher astride it.

That is what she thought first and then she saw only blue eyes, a Viper medallion. A Witcher Hunter, disguised as one of their own. How dare he! Trying to catch them at Kaer Morhen, a trap in their own home! Well, it was too bad for him that she was there. This whoreson probably thought that he could defeat Vesemir… Ciri didn’t cry but her scream was laced with anguish. Not the vicious lion roar that she had used against the Wild hunt but it was enough to press the Hunter back. She was a Witcher and she had fought his kind before, she had defeated his kind before. She had killed his kind before. Steel for humans. Silver for Monsters.

Before her stood a monster.

Ciri charged him, side stepping here and there to confuse him. He was patient, too patient. Waiting for her to get close again, his steel blade held at an odd angle. In his off hand with the blunt edge facing her, her last strike only parried to the side before he stepped back. Defensive. Geralt had trained her to hold back when facing an enemy she knew nothing about, had been adamant about it in fact. Her temper was always a point of stress between them, but he had been a good father. He is a good father and she was going to see him soon. There was no holding back.

Her blade connected and slid down the length of the hunter’s short blade, his palm came up to her shoulder, giving her a gentle shove to throw her off balance. Only a slight stumble, a foot coming down hard so she could swing her sword up, aiming for the opening under his arm. His balance was off, she could see that. Like he was expecting more weight on his right side. The short sword was definitely in the wrong hand but he wielded it easily. Trained with a blade with both hands? Odd choice for a witcher hunter.

This time she danced backwards into the hall and narrowed her eyes. She could trip him up. She was like no other witcher. Blade at the ready she calls upon chaos, willing it to bend to her will. With a snap of light, almost a twinkling she blinked beyond him, behind him. Fizzing, releasing the chaos, Ciri brings her blade down on the hunter, only for her silver blade to touch nothing but air. How?

“Cirilla my darling! My little Lion Cub! You are even more beautiful than last I saw you.” Jaskier called out to her, finally finding his voice. The last few years, trying to settle down, had softened him. Lacking the willingness to throw himself bodily between two forces of nature these days. When Dawid disappeared and the creeping feeling of chaos began sinking into skin, it was enough to force his voice past the knot in his throat.

“Jaskier! Run!” Oh his sweet little Ciri; she was so strong now and just like her father. Forgetting that Jaskier was not a man that looked danger in the eye only to turn tail and run. Oh no, no, no, he was not going to turn tail and run. Instead he slipped down off Pegasus as gracefully as he could, which wasn’t graceful at all because his joints were old and stiff. He offered a hand to Słońce, helping her down so that she rested firmly on his hip. This little one wasn’t little enough for this, but Ciri no doubt could feel the magic she was using.

“Now, now Ciri. Have you learned nothing from your Uncle Jaskier? You say ‘run’, I hear ‘come closer’!” Maybe he was a little dramatic, a little too silly. It served him well enough when acting as a spy. Who would think the bard with the big smile and bawdy songs was a spy who could, and has, caused the deaths of hundreds of soldiers. Today he turned those talents on his little girl.

“Aren’t you happy to see me? I am beyond words with joy at seeing you again. Look at you! I see a new scar, and you must tell me the tale. Anything that could leave a permanent mark must have been fierce! Yet here you stand triumphant!” Jaskier gestured with his free hand, hefting Słońce up higher on his hip. Chaos seemed into his skin where Słońce gripped onto his doublet. Without a doubt Ciri could feel it. Blue met Hazel, Ciri’s shoulders tight while his were forced loose. Ciri was torn. Jaskier knew her, knew that she was still trying to work this through in her head. She was smart, she was Geralt’s daughter. Remember what he taught you, lion cub.

“Explain it, and spare me the poetry, Julian.”

“Oh darling, you wound me deeper than any threat or dagger that has been leveled against me. Witcher Cirilla may I present to you this little ray of sunshine, Słońce. As well as her father, Witcher Dawid.” With a whisper to Słońce, Dawid was revealed at his side. Jaskier had no way of knowing that he was there but it did not surprise him at all.

“A Viper, in Kaer Morhen?”

“Not all Vipers fought against the Wolves, or even supported our School’s actions.”

“From what I hear you are all cads, cowards, whoresons.” Ciri cocked her hip, turning her foot outward. Posed to strike in a manner not at all like Geralt. Telegraphed and tricky. A baiting form maybe? Something that would only work against a human-like opponent. Oh, little lion cub, what has this world done to you?

“I’m sure much crueler words have been shared when it comes to us.”

“Words I would rather not say in front of a child.”

“I thank you for that Wolf, although I see you wear the mark of 2 schools.” Dawid gestured, hands empty of weapons. Making note that Ciri adjusted her stance, no longer baiting him, as she gathered the Cat medallion from her belt and held it aloft. He could smell the blood, the stench of rotten flesh. She did not wear it to identify as part of the school but kept it as a trophy.

“Stole it back from a hunter, one that sought my head. I carry 3 in total. Wolf, Cat, Griffin.”

“You trained with a Griffin, I can see in your stance.” Her feet closer together, knees not braced but loose. Ready to dart from side to side, to jump and throw her weight down on him. A good choice, the Cats would have trained her better but they would not have appreciated her. Elder blood and chaos, magic in her very soul. Signs useless no matter how practiced she was. Shame. 

“Coën, School of the Griffin. He lived within these walls for some time, no longer.”

“My condolences.”

“So…” Ciri finally sheathed her sword. Relaxing as much as any Witcher could when cornered in their own home. Her eyes went from Jaskier, to Dawid, to Słońce. Again and again. Suspiciously like Yennefer did, and Jaskier bristled under them. While he and the witch had struck up a tentative friendship, she was crueler than he was. Always picking at the signs of his aging, running her hand pityingly across his shoulders and cheeks. Crows’ feet! Ha! At least his wrinkles were beautiful, they were dignified! Yennerer had wrinkles too, just at the corners of her mouth and a crinkle just under her eye.

She was even more beautiful with maturity on her face.

“Where is Geralt?”

“Geralt? My dear, I have not seen him in years. What would prompt you to ask about him?” Jaskier’s arms were strong but his hip was starting to ache. Dawid swept in, lifting Słońce out of his arms. Held with ease in his arms instead of supported on his hip, it was for the best, the belt of daggers looked dangerous.

“I…” Ciri looked confused, raising a hand to her chin. Rubbing the jut of her jaw with her finger, back and forth, worrying a red mark into her skin. Her gloves were new, not broken in properly like the last pair she owned. Eyes looking down for just a moment returned to look at Jaskier, her hand falling to her side. “Geralt must still be in Toussaint then.”

“Toussaint? Well he certainly picked a lovely location to retire to! Last I was in Toussaint I… Well, yes, I was up to no good, and I recall that I am under decree to never return to the duchy less I be hung.”

“Of course you were. Is there anywhere on the continent that you have not been nearly hung, garroted, or run through?”

“I would certainly hope not.” Dawid could not stop the huff of laughter that escaped him. Of course.  _ ‘What worth does a long life have if you do not live it?’ _

“Well, last I visited I mentioned to Geralt that… Since… I hadn’t seen everyone together in a long time and it would be nice if we did. See everyone that is. He agreed, in his way, and said that he would spread the word, that we would all meet up for the first harvest. I thought he would have found you, when I asked you to meet me here.” Oh. Jaskier was overwhelmed with familial love, and nothing would stop him from crossing the room and wrapping himself around Ciri. She was a lioness now but nothing like her Grandmother, Ciri was fierce as they come but kind, a poet’s child at heart. She hugged back of course, burying her nose in his collar like she was barely a teenager again.

“I must thank my works for making you into such a sensitive Witcher, and not a cantankerous curmudgeon like the rest of your family.”

“Yen complained, last I saw her, that you made me too sensitive. That I could have become Queen if only I was not so sentimental.” Of course Jaskier was quick to lock their arms together, hip to hip. The feather in his hat brushed Ciri’s hair where it drooped.

“Queen! Ha, while you would have been a fine Queen, a great one even, you were never your Grandmother. Staying in one place, wearing pretty clothes and heavy armor? To watch your people raise their words and fists against those they should thank for all the good they do? You’d never go in for it. No, you, my dear lioness, were born to be wild! To be witnessed! Dawid held tighter to a squirming Słońce, still a child, greedy for attention from people she liked. Nothing he could say would calm or console the tantrum brewing in his daughter. At least there was nothing until a wizened voice called down from the stone stairs that lead into the great hall.

Vesemir.

“Now this, this is a scene I never thought I would ever see again. A Viper in these halls.”


End file.
